


A Matter of Misappropriation

by Vae



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), Pop Music RPF
Genre: Crack, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-08
Updated: 2012-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-29 05:41:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/316420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vae/pseuds/Vae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some gifts aren't intended to be kept</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Matter of Misappropriation

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [28 Flavors of Adam Lambert charity ficlet drive](http://itinerant-vae.livejournal.com/191534.html) for just_shai. Thanks to lvs2read for the beta. Feedback and concrit always welcome, plenty more prompts to be claimed.

It's a van, or something like. Something big enough that Adam can tell he's not stuffed down between the back seats of a car, anyway, big enough that he's rolling around every time the fucking thing takes a corner and he picks up another bruise. Whatever's holding his wrists together behind his back, it's soft and stretchy, but not stretchy enough that he can get his hands out of it. It feels pretty similar to whatever's wrapped around his eyes, keeping them closed and keeping him in darkness. He's not even seeing the flashes of redness that would be street lights through the windows, which either means there aren't any street lights, or there aren't any windows.

He's not really thinking that clearly about windows, though. Mostly he's thinking "ohshitohshitoh _shit_ " and trying to brace himself against something, or curl up enough that he's not bruising anything too badly each time he hits something.

The vibrations of the engine slow, and the sense of movement fades. There's a distant sound of voices, and then the van starts again. Adam bites off a curse, rolls again, and picks up a fresh bruise to his thigh. Great. Somewhere new to turn purple.

Next time it stops, there's a metallic sliding sound, and _there's_ the burst of redness that says there are lights around (and that the blindfold's pretty thin). Big hands take hold of his arms, dragging him out and more or less to his feet. Gravel slides under his boots and he stumbles on a step, landing hard on his knees on a really fucking hard surface.

Someone drags off the blindfold and he blinks in the sudden brightness, half squinting, trying to focus, to see anything he recognizes. Long nails drag across his cheek then press under his chin, lifting it, making him look up into a masked face that he still manages to remember.

"I want my song back," Lady Gaga hisses.


End file.
